It Began in 1928
by Basketballgirl Kaitlin
Summary: It's 1928, and people are singing, dancing, and having the time of their lives. World War I is a thing of the past, and everyone is ready to put one foot in front of the other and make the best of life. Among the crowd are our beloved Heroes and Germans. So what exactly ARE they doing during the Roaring 20s?
1. It Began When I Was 15 (Kinch)

**A/N:** Hey, folks. So I got the idea to do my own '1928' story from my friend's, L.E. Wigman, story on here. I've asked her permission if I could write my own story around this topic, and she was alright with it, so...here I am. Just one warning; because I view Carter as a 19 year old when he arrives to Stalag 13 in the show, he does not have a chapter in here due to how young he would be during this year. Little kids don't remember much from their very early years, so I wanted to stay true to that matter while writing this. But enough of my rambling. Hope you guys enjoy my newest story, and I'll start everyone off with the man of the hour: Sergeant 'Kinch' Kinchloe.

* * *

**James Kinchloe (age, 15):**

(_January 28, 1928_)

15 year old James Kinchloe sat quietly in the pew as his about-to-be step-mother walked down the aisle to 'Here Comes the Bride' towards his father, Atticus Kinchloe. A 6'7", strong built man with curly black hair, a warm smile that lit up the room, and known all over Detroit for being the fastest mechanic to figure out what was a problem with one's car and then fix it just as quickly. Well-liked by everyone, and always asked for by name.

The woman about to become his wife, Virginia, was much shorter than he was. 5'5", tiny in figure, and her thick, wavy black hair was pulled back in a French braid. Unlike Atticus, both of Virginia's parents had died when she was a senior in high school. Instead of her father walking her down the aisle, one of her uncles had the honor of doing so.

It was the typical love story for them. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl, boy asks girl out, one thing leads to another, then boy asks for the girl's hand in marriage a year later. Nothing fancy or extravagant, but still full of romance.

James did not hate Virginia. Quite the opposite. He was glad his father had found love again, and he was glad it was with a woman as warm-hearted and compassionate as Virginia. But at that very moment, all he could think about was one person: his mother. How he missed her dearly. Growing up, he had been the one more close to his mother, and his brother had been close to their dad. James pretty much learned everything he knew from his mother…well, except for his exceptional gift at mechanics and fixing things. That was all his father.

Two years ago it had been now since that horrible, cold winter night. The night his mother's ovarian cancer had won the fight against her. He had been lost without her guidance ever since. Sure he had his dad, his older brother, his friends, he even had Virginia. But no one could ever be his mother. No one could ever take her place. And it was that very moment where he felt like he officially had to let her go. He had to say 'goodbye' to his mother and forget all about her in the past.

As the ceremony came to its end, and Father Charles pronounced his dad and Virginia husband and wife, James had to leave the pew and go into the lobby of the church. He sat down on a bench, leaned forward, and covered his eyes as he let out a heavy breath of air. He ran his hands down his face and tried to come to terms with everything. He clutched the handkerchief his mom had given him shortly before she died and was about to head outside to the car, when someone sat down beside him, and a familiar voice was heard.

"Not easy on me either, squirt." James looked up to find his brother, 19 year old Henry Kinchloe, beside him. A freshmen attending Wayne State University and a spitting image of his father. "I don't like seeing Dad with someone other than Mom either."

James shook his head. "I'm glad Dad's happy again, and Virginia's a nice woman, it's just…I feel like this is it. That Mom's officially gone."

"She's not gone, James. She's just…living someplace else now. Someplace far, far away from here."

"Henry," James said softly. "Why? Why did she have to die?"

"Because she knew someone like Virginia needed somebody to love her."

The younger Kinchloe looked down at his feet and scraped them across the floor silently. It never made sense to him. Why did good people have to sometimes die in such awful ways? Why had his mother had to die in such a horrible way? Why so young? Why did she have to die at all?

"James," Henry interrupted his thoughts. "If Mom were here, what do you think she'd tell you?"

James sniffled, not realizing until now that a tear was streaming down his face. "She'd tell me to put on my brave face. Tell me just because she's not here physically doesn't mean she's not here in other ways. She'd want us to make this day something for Dad and Virginia to remember for the rest of their lives."

"And do you think she'd like seeing you here shedding tears and moping around, then?"

James smirked. "Now _that_ she'd say 'What you cryin' for? You got food and a bed, don't yah'?"

Both boys were laughing now. It died down, and Henry gave his little brother a warm smile as everyone followed Atticus and Virginia out into the lobby.

"Come on, squirt," he said. "Let's go congratulate the old man."

James returned the grin, then stood up with his brother and began to make their ways towards the newlyweds, when James stopped Henry. "Henry," he said. The older Kinchloe boy turned to look at his brother and was greeted with a heartfelt smile. "Thanks for the talk."

Henry smiled back and nodded. "Anytime, little bro." He then saw two girls walk by and suddenly forgot everything. "Now beat it, I've got a date with Aphrodite herself."

He left James to himself to chase after the two girls, and James gave a snicker. He then saw his father and Virginia talking to some family friends and felt his heart lighten with each minute passing by. He grinned wide and began his way over to the new couple. It was time to give Virginia the ceremonial Kinchloe bear hug.


	2. It Began When I Was 33 (Klink)

**Wilhelm Klink (age, 33):**

(_March 2, 1928_)

Wilhelm Klink flipped through the daily mail in his study, passing over half of them and tossing them back onto his desk. A letter from his parents in Dusseldorf, very belated Christmas cards, most of them being bills or recruitment letters to join some new group in Berlin called the _Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei_ (NSDAP). Those he automatically threw in the trash can. He could care less about some political movement in Berlin. He had left the military in 1923 once reaching the rank of full colonel to move to Hammelburg and become a bookkeeper in protest of the Weimar Republic. Ever since losing his beloved Kaiser and slowly growing accustomed to a new political system, he had grown to hate politics and wanted nothing to do with them. If he could not have his German Empire back, then he would follow God's laws and not those of his country. He still loved Germany with all his heart and was proud to be a German, but its new political system was more than infuriating to him.

He began to tear open a bill for his electricity, when the sound of crying reached his ears. Klink set down the bill on his desk, felt a wide smile come to his face, then hurried into the living room and over to the bassinet that sat in front of the record player. He carefully picked up his little pride and joy, his week old baby daughter: Kalina Mary Klink. She was swaddled in a cream colored, knitted wool blanket and wearing a long sleeved white dress with little baby pink flowers on it for a pattern.

Klink held his daughter close and rocked her from side to side, gently hushing her every so often. The crying eventually quieted down, and Baby Kalina opened her eyes to see her father smiling down at her, his blue eyes twinkling like they had never done so before in his entire life. She simply looked up at him, quiet as could be, then made an attempt to smile and made tiny sounds as she stuck out her tongue.

Klink gently kissed his baby's head and continued to sway her from side to side, forgetting all about the outside world as he gazed down at this little angel in his arms. He had wanted to be a father for as long as he could remember and thought his dream would never become a reality after the Great War and many failed relationships. Then his life was changed forever when he and his wife, Janine, found out they were expecting. Little Kalina was born on a snowy night in February, and Klink fell in love with his daughter at first sight. He loved her like he had never loved anyone else before in his life. She was his entire world. His sunshine in the sky. The very reason he woke up every morning. He didn't need anything else as long as he had his baby girl.

He kissed Kalina's head again and began singing to her, when a knock came to his door. Not expecting anyone to stop by, Klink raised an eyebrow in suspicion and made his way to the door. He opened it and was somewhat pleasantly surprised to find his old commanding officer, Colonel Albert Burkhalter, standing there in full military uniform.

"Colonel Burkhalter, what a surprise. I wasn't expecting you to drop by." Klink gasped, a small smile on his face.

"I heard congratulations were in order. You have a new daughter from what Captain Schneider told me," Burkhalter answered, grinning at the little baby in Klink's arms.

Klink lit up again and looked back down at his daughter, who squirmed a bit before getting comfortable again. "I do," he said lovingly. "Kalina Mary Klink."

"She is very lucky. I know she will be very loved…unfortunately, she isn't the main reason for my visit." Burkhalter replied, his grin becoming a serious, somber frown.

Klink's eyebrows furrowed in befuddlement. "What are you doing here then, _Herr Oberst_? Certainly you are busy with work back in Berlin."

Burkhalter stepped inside and closed the door behind him. "I am here to warn you about the _Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei_," he told his previous subordinate.

It was Klink's turn to frown. His eyes turned dark, but kept his anger in control. He would not lose his temper in front of Burkhalter and especially his sweet daughter. "What do _they_ want?" He asked, with a snarl. "They want money, they won't get a single pfennig out of me."

Burkhalter gave Klink a sympathetic look, understanding his deep anger. Losing their Kaiser and empire had been almost as painful as losing a dear loved one, and he knew that Klink had been one of the few who had been hit the hardest by the tragic loss. "I understand your anger, Klink," he said. "I was devastated myself when we lost the war. But we cannot be angry now. Not with the leader of the _Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei_ on the rise of popularity. His name is Adolf Hitler, and I do not have a good feeling about him."

Klink's expression softened and became curious again. "Why? What's wrong with him?"

Burkhalter let out a heavy sigh. "I don't know…but I have a good feeling he's hiding some hidden agenda. I am not a fan of President von Hindenburg any more than you are, but I have a bad feeling about this man. Have you read '_Mein Kampf_'?"

Klink shook his head.

"Avoid it. It is enough to poison one's mind. I fear we might have a dictator among us. And by how popular he is becoming among the German people, I sense real trouble is about to come our way." Burkhalter continued.

Klink's face drained of color, and he swallowed a large knot forming in his throat. Dictator? Were there actually people more angry than he was that they were willing to follow in the steps of a man who was possibly dangerous? And what was this real trouble Burkhalter spoke of? A coup? Discrimination?...Another war? Just the idea of another world war was enough to make him shiver with fear. And the idea of his daughter, who was peacefully sleeping, being exposed to such violence only intensified that fear in him.

The retired colonel held onto Kalina as tight as he could, wanting to protect her as if the real trouble Burkhalter spoke of had just walked right on into his house. "Colonel Burkhalter, you don't think my daughter's life is at harm, do you?"

"Not at the moment. But if this Hitler escalates his popularity any further, I would strongly advise you to censor your daughter's exposure to radio broadcasts and books revolved around the matter. A full grown adult being brainwashed is one thing…it's a much more dangerous matter when a mere child is poisoned. My suspicions could very well be wrong, but I would remain on alert if I were you. We saw what one world war did, I do not wish to see what a second one will bring."

Klink straightened his position, and his face hardened with determination. "You have no worries when it comes to my daughter, _Herr Oberst_. She will learn nothing other than love and kindness is what keeps this earth functioning." He promised.

"Good. The less people who are swept into this storm among the horizon, the less chance of another war happening." Burkhalter turned to look down at his watch and sighed. "If you excuse me, I must get back to Berlin. I've got more legal documents to go through than there are men in our military currently." He exchanged salutes with Klink, made his way to the front door, then left without another word.

Leaving himself alone again, Klink stood there silently and thought back on what his past commander had told him. What he had warned him about. He rarely, if ever, saw Burkhalter tense about something, but this Hitler fellow really seemed to have the burly colonel's feathers ruffled all over. And if Burkhalter was tense about something, then it _had_ to be something major. And the more Klink thought about it, the more apprehensive _he_ became about it. Germany becoming under a dictatorship? Another world war possibly on the horizon? Wasn't the Great War enough? He had seen people murdered, slaughtered, mentally traumatized for the rest of their lives. He had colleagues from the German Army that _still_ suffered from shell shock.

Would he really have to see another world war? Would his sweet baby daughter have to witness the horrors he had spent years trying to forget? Just the thought of it was enough to give him nightmares. He was taken out of his thoughts when he heard a soft little noise. Klink looked down to find Kalina awake and looking up at him with her little blue eyes. Those little blue eyes that made him remember there was good and purity still in this crazy world. He beamed down at his daughter, his eyes flooding with unshed tears as his heart yet again felt the overwhelming feeling of warmth and pure joy of finally being a father.

"Don't you worry, my little _sußes_," Klink told her softly. "You'll always be safe with me…I'll love you forever and ever. No matter what."

Kalina made some more noises and another attempt at smiling. Klink leaned forward in response, gently kissed his daughter's tiny forehead, then began rocking her from side to side and sang to her 'April Showers' in German. There may have been anger and evil lurking in the world currently, but not Klink's. His world was right there in his arms.


	3. It Began When I Was 11 (Newkirk)

**Peter Newkirk (age, 11):**

(_June 21, 1928_)

Katherine Newkirk sat at the table helping her youngest, eight year old Mavis, with her math homework, while retired Warrant Officer Richard Newkirk sat in his rocking chair reading the evening newspaper. All was quiet at the Newkirk residence, when an unexpected knock came from the door. Richard set his paper down in his lap and removed the pipe in his mouth as his eyebrow rose in suspicion.

"The hell is that?" He asked, particularly no one.

"Did you invite someone over, Richard?" Katherine asked, her shoulders tensing and muscles locking.

"Stay there with Mavis," Richard told her, rising to his feet and grabbing the pistol he kept nearby. "Let me handle this." He quietly approached the door, cocked his gun, and abruptly pulled the door open to reveal two police officers standing there with his oldest, 11 year old Peter, in handcuffs. Richard lowered his weapon, but his facial expression darkened at the sight before him. "God dammit, boy, what the hell have you been up to now?" He barked.

"We're sorry to disturb you this late, Mr. Newkirk," the one officer began. "We are sorry to inform you your son has been caught with his third shoplifting violation. A group of his friends were caught at the drug store earlier tonight trying to steal packs of cigarettes."

"He does it again, and we'll be forced to arrest and book him into the system." The second officer explained.

"_Arrest_ him," Katherine gasped, getting to her feet. "Arrest my Peter?"

"Skipped school again as well, which means we will also charge him with truancy along with felony shoplifting," the first officer said.

"He won't be doing _any_ of that, Officer, I assure you," Richard answered, yanking his son inside, the handcuffs now removed from his hands. "Thank you for bringing him home safely."

Both officers nodded in acknowledgement, bid the Newkirks 'goodnight', then Richard closed the door and turned to his son red faced. Peter simply looked down at the ground and shuffled his feet back and forth against the floor. Eventually he lifted his eyes to his parents and saw both of them frowning at him, his mother looking on in disappointment, while his father looked like he was about to kill someone.

The silence lingered for a long moment before Peter found the guts to open his mouth and say something. "Good evening?" He asked cautiously.

"You damn blockhead, how many times have your mother and I told you not to shoplift with those hoodlum friends of yours?" Richard hollered.

"Skipping school again?" Katherine added. "Peter Richard Newkirk, I told you your education comes before fun. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"It's not my fault school's boring. How would _you_ two feel if you had to sit eight hours a day at a desk and listen to the same stuff every day just to come home afterwards and do even more studying on it?" Peter remarked defensively.

"You prefer I sent you to military school and having to get up at four in the morning every day instead? I have every right in mind to send you there in order to shape you up and learn some damn manners," Richard said, his tone gruff and cold.

"_Military school_!" Peter exclaimed. "I ain't going to no military school and leaving my friends behind."

"You'll go wherever the bloody hell I decide to send you! You can live out in the streets if I say so. You do nothing but cause trouble and don't give a damn who it hurts in result. When are you gonna grow up and start acting like a man? You're nothing but a damn scoundrel! Military school is a _blessing_ compared to what jail will be like!"

"Enough, Richard," Katherine said, butting in. "No one's going anywhere except for Peter to his room." She turned her eyes back to her son. "You're grounded as of now, young man. Two weeks at least. _Four_ if I hear about you skipping school again. And you can forget about supper if you continue to speak to us like that."

Peter threw his backpack on the ground, stormed up the stairs to go to his bedroom, and slammed the door as hard as he could behind him. Once alone, he crossed his arms and shook his head. "They think I'm nothing but a big baby, that's what. I don't need them anyways," he told himself. He pulled out the flyer he found earlier from his pocket and unfolded it. Recruitment for the circus. Ages 18 and older. New people welcomed every year.

He folded the ad back up and hid it in the Bible he kept at his bedside table. The plan was already set. It was so well thought out it would be mere impossible to know an 11 year old thought of it. He would continue to go to school like his mother wished until he graduated high school at 18. After that, he was joining the circus and running away from home. No rules, no school, and no parents. He would be free as a bird. He could smoke, drink, and party whenever he wanted without someone telling him 'no'.

Unfortunately, until he was 18 and a high school graduate, it was nothing more than a mere dream. Until then he was stuck with homework, boring teachers, and his drill sergeant father screaming and hollering at him to get up every morning at five in the morning. One thing was for certain, though. Never, not in a million years, would he ever join the military like his father had. Fat chance in Hell. Listening to orders from some hot headed officer that thought he was better than everyone, having to follow rules word for word, not having the freedom to go wherever and do whatever he wanted…no. It would never happen. Not if he had anything to say about it.

Peter kicked off his shoes, fell into bed, and closed his eyes. Forgetting all about the piling homework on his desk, he slowly drifted off into dream land and began to imagine the fun, care free life ahead of him once school was done and behind him.


	4. It Began When I Was 39 (Schultz)

**Hans Schultz (age, 39):**

(_July 14, 1928_)

Hans Schultz drunkenly danced with his friends and the guest of honor, his good friend and German renowned Colonel Engelbert Jahnke, to the live music playing on stage at Hilda's Hofbrau. Some were belting out lyrics to the song being performed, some did the polka, and others danced in a circle with their overfilled beer mugs while spilling a bit here and there. It was a night every man dreamed of. Music, beer, friends, and lots of pretty girls wandering around the area. Tonight was all about fun, and nothing in the outside world mattered at that very moment. Not work, not stress, not anything.

"Oh Engelbert, this party is _wunderbar_," Schultz cried, with glee. "And so much music."

"You know what they say, Hans; you live once, so make the best of it," Jahnke, a tall, thin, dark haired and eyed man answered with a grin.

Both men laughed in response and clinked their mugs in cheers, when Schultz gazed over at the other side of the room and spotted a beautiful blonde standing there in a slender, glittery, sleeveless black dress. She was laughing with a few of her girlfriends, had golden hair that went down a bit passed the middle of her back, and had dazzling blue eyes that sparkled like the ocean during the daytime. She looked over to where Schultz stood with Jahnke, spotted the heavyset man, then blushed and waved 'hello' to him.

"Who, who, who is _that_?" Schultz gasped, his heart dancing in circles the longer he looked at the girl.

"That is Maria Euler. A model from Dusseldorf and a good friend of mine. Couldn't throw a party without her and her friends, now could I," Jahnke said, with a wink.

"Bea_uitiful_," Schultz said. He was completely mesmerized by the woman and had to speak with her. Without realizing it, he began to approach her and cleared his throat when he was less than four feet away from her. "_Guten abend, _baby," he spoke with a grin.

Maria, who had been laughing with her girls about something in particular, turned her eyes to Schultz and blushed again. "_Guten abend, Herr…_"

"Schultz. Please, call me Hans," he said.

"Well Hans, what's a handsome man like you doing here away from your wife?" She asked flirtatiously.

"Who is she?" Schultz remarked, the alcohol talking at that point. He received a giggle in response. A sound that made angels sing in his head.

"You are too funny, Hans," Maria told him. "Such a lovely sense of humor…I bet you could make anybody laugh."

"Funny enough you would like a dance?" He asked, holding his arm out to her.

Maria's grin widened and was about to take a hold, when a high piercing scream startled both her and Schultz. "HANS!" A woman's voice yelled.

Schultz's eyes almost fell out of his head and snapped them to the front entrance. When he saw who was storming his way, he nearly felt faint. "Gretchen?" He gasped.

His fuming wife approached him and stared him straight into his baby blue irises. "I've been looking all over town for you, and I find you here drunk and flirting with another woman?" She spat, placing her fists on her hips.

"But, but, but I told you I was going to Engelbert's birthday party." Schultz stuttered, knowing he was in hot water now.

"You go out and have fun while I stay home with four young children all to find out you are flirting with this tramp here?!"

"Excuse me?" Maria remarked, staring down her competition, which she found not much.

"Can it, blondie," Gretchen said, briefly turning her attention to her before looking back at her drunken fool of a husband. "This party is over. For _you_, it is."

"But Gretchen, _Liebchen_, I haven't finished my beer yet a…"

"You'll be done with your beer when I _say_ you are. Let's go!" Gretchen grabbed Schultz by the ear and pulled him out of the Hofbrau, trailing behind her with a bunch of 'ow's' and stumbling.

"Happy Birthday, Engelbert! I will call you tomorrow," Schultz called out, then grumbled to himself, "If I _live_ that long."


	5. It Began When I Was 10 (LeBeau)

**Louis LeBeau (age, 10):**

(_September 17, 1928_)

10 year old Louis stood on a stool in the kitchen of Guillaume's five star restaurant completely lost with the current dish he was preparing for a customer: bouillabaisse. The smells emanating from the pot made his little mouth water. If he were not such a stickler for manners, he would stick his face into the pot and eat the entire thing himself. A pure sense of joy just filled him inside working with food, preparing culinary arts for others to enjoy. And the fact that he was currently being mentored under the most famous, well-respected restaurant owner himself, it was as if little Louis LeBeau had died and gone to Heaven.

He had only been working for Guillaume Prudhomme for about three months now, and even in that time frame he had learned so much. How to properly hold a knife, how to quickly chop vegetables and breads, what was proper procedure to putting a fire out caused either by oil or electricity, so much more than that. But while he enjoyed cooking fine French dishes for people, his real passion lie with baking. Brownies, cookies, pies, cakes, crème brûlée, whatever it was. His goal was to open his own bakery when he grew up and finished school. And since Guillaume owned both his restaurant and a small bakery a couple blocks down the street, Louis hoped that if he was really good, and he listened and worked really hard as a chef that Guillaume would take him to the next level. The level he dreamed of every waking hour and every night in his sleep.

As Louis continued to prepare the bouillabaisse, Guillaume walked into the kitchen wearing a chef's uniform and apron tied around his waist. A tall, thin man around his early fifties with graying black hair and a mustache to match. He sniffed the air as he picked up a mouthwatering scent, followed it over to Louis' pot, and he moaned with delight.

"Oh Louis, that is _très magnifique_. I have never smelled a better bouillabaisse," he said, beaming with pride.

"Wait till you taste it, _Monsieur Prudhomme_," Louis answered, an adorable grin making its way to his face.

"Louis, my boy, we've been over this. Do not be so formal with me. It is Guillaume for you."

"_Oui, Guillaume_. Would you like a taste?"

Guillaume took the ladle from the little boy's hand, blew on the food to cool it down, then took a sip and groaned louder than before with delight. "_Mon Dieu, Louis_. How did you make this bouillabaisse taste so good?"

"I added just a dash of parsley to your recipe for a little more flavor," Louis said, pinching the space between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Genius, my boy. You keep this up, and I might teach you how to make crème brûlée next."

As Louis' small face lit up like a Christmas tree, one of the waiters of the restaurant, Edgar, came bustling in with 'panic' written all over his face. "_Monsieur Prudhomme! Monsieur Prudhomme_, the Ambassador of Germany just came in," he reported rapidly.

"The Ambassador of Germany!" Guillaume exclaimed.

"_Oui_, Sir. He is asking for _Schweinshaxe und kartoffelpuffer_, Sir. I told him we did not serve that here, _Monsieur_, and…"

"For God's sake, Edgar, this is the Ambassador of Germany. If he wants _Schweinshaxe_ and potato pancakes, he will get them even if I have to go out and buy the potatoes myself. Now go out there and tell him he will get his meal soon and that anything he wants to drink is on the house." Guillaume cut his head waiter off.

"_Oui, Monsieur Prudhomme_," Edgar said, with a sharp salute, then glided out of the kitchen, leaving the restaurant owner again alone with his protégée, who was looking up at him completely dumbfounded. Potato pancakes was clear enough, but he had never even heard of the other German dish. He furrowed his eyebrows together and cocked his head slightly to the left.

"_Monsieur Guillaume_, what is schwine socks?" Louis asked him.

Guillaume seemed to briefly shudder just hearing the word again, then turned to Louis and let out a soft sigh. "_Schweinshaxe_ is a roasted hog knuckle. It is extremely popular in the southeastern part of Germany."

"_Hog knuckle_," Louis gasped. "Blech…_c'est très dégoûtant_! Why would anybody wish to eat _that_?" (1)

"It is good practice, my boy," Guillaume said, placing a gentle hand on the boy's shoulder. "You may work in Germany someday for a career, and you will have to make German dishes all the time…Now, if you excuse me, I have a very angry ambassador to calm down and a waiter on the verge of having another mental breakdown."

Guillaume patted Louis' shoulder before leaving him alone with the international chef, who would teach him how to make the German delicacies. When he was gone, Louis again shuddered at the idea of someone eating a pig's knuckle and shook his head with disgust.

"Cook in Germany for a living," he murmured to himself. "I will _never_ do such a thing. I will _never_ cook German food for a living…even if I'm _ordered_ to do it." Making the promise to himself, Louis turned around to face the international chef and internally grimaced as he began to watch how to make _Schweinshaxe_.

* * *

(1) _C'__est très dégoûtant_ \- It's very disgusting.


	6. It Began When I Was 16 (Hogan)

**Robert E. Hogan (age, 16):**

(_October 9, 1928_)

It was another school day in October. The leaves were majestically falling from trees onto the streets of Cleveland, Ohio. Teenagers making out with their lovers in private sprinted from their cars or places hidden behind businesses in fear of being late for homeroom. Some even ran out into busy traffic in a frantic, causing drivers to slam on their breaks and peek their heads from out of their windows cursing at the 'dumb delinquents' in their way. But not 16 year old Robert Hogan.

Although known to get brought into many troublesome situations (underage parties and jumping into stolen vehicles his stupid friends claimed to 'borrow', among other things), he was incredibly responsible and took his academics as seriously as his retired army general of a father took his duties during World War I. He studied like a dog, making sure his brain was as clever and as sharp as could be; doing anything possible to ensure his chance of getting his dream job after graduating from college: a commercial airline pilot. To fly all over the United States and see everything from the beaches of Los Angeles to the massive skyscrapers in New York City.

Then there was his other goal. One that made him want to be even more of a responsible, well-respected individual. Once he had spent about ten years or so flying all over the country, there was nothing more he wanted to do than become a father. He loved children so much that his minimum requirement was at least four. He wanted to teach them all about music, different cultures, how to be kind and respectable figures in society. He wanted to snuggle and kiss them as little infants, chase them around and play games as toddlers, and of course embarrass them a tiny bit as teenagers. After all, every parent had to give their children a little grief here and there. And he could not wait for every second of it. He wanted to be the parent their kids could trust with anything. A parent that they looked up to and found as a role model in their life. Teaching his kids how to grow up and be loving, accepting citizens was the most important thing to him. Doing well in his academic career was the fundamental ground of doing so.

He walked through the hallways of Cleveland High, making a quick stop at his locker before heading to homeroom. As he made his way to his destination, teachers gave him friendly greetings; he flirted with the cheerleaders, promising the gorgeous blonde captain, Tracy Addy, to be her date to a wild party happening that Saturday night with his flirtatious grin and the wink of his eye; caught a football his arch enemy, Tony Esposito, purposely threw at him to hit Robert in the face and got chants and cheers from the jocks watching. When Tony stormed off, Robert rolled his eyes while shaking his head and tossed the football behind him as he continued to his locker.

After what felt like eternity, he finally reached his locker and grabbed his books for first period science class, when he was joined by his best friend, Richard 'Rick' Schuerman. Always seen wearing a black leather jacket and carrying a comb and mirror to check his 'award winning', dark-brown locks of hair, trying to appear cooler than he really was. To Robert, though, Rick was the coolest guy there ever existed.

"Hey, Rob!" Rick called, making his way towards his closest friend since first grade. "Ready for that geography exam today in Sheffield's class?"

Robert smirked as he closed his locker, his science books held by his side. "There aren't enough days in a year to study for an exam in that woman's class," he answered.

"Just be lucky you passed the mile run. You get to sit in the bleachers and relax, while the rest of us make a fool of ourselves and collapse at the end from exhaustion." Rick replied, pulling out his comb and brushing his hair back.

"Maybe you should focus less on your hair and more on pacing yourself to prevent overexertion on the first lap." Robert teased.

"Hey, you don't just wake up looking like this. I gotta look good in case a recruiter comes wandering by someday and sees me."

Robert fought back a laugh as he shook his head and continued walking with Rick to homeroom, his best friend moving on to a new topic of conversation.

"Man, Rob, I tell yah. Next year's gonna be the party of all parties. Senior Skip Day, Senior Trip Day…Senior Prank Day…" He trailed off, a look of mischief coming across his ocean blue eyes.

"How about doing well on your exams so you get into a good college?" Robert suggested. He earned a snarky glare in response.

"Sure, let's get all responsible about everything," Rick said. "Hey, speaking of good colleges, you decide where you're gonna apply to next year yet? I need a roommate and an estimate on how much I'm gonna have to bribe Sanora Sanchez to give me a passing grade in Spanish class."

As Rick spoke, Robert caught something taped to the walls next to a bunch of other fliers and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes hooked onto the one in the center of all of them. A flier recruiting men 18 and older to join the United States Army Air Corps and to apply now. As much as he tried to look away, he couldn't. Something about that flier…the way it looked. The way it made him feel, it was as if it were beckoning and calling his name…but he wanted to be an airline pilot. He even _hated_ guns and violence…so why was this flier so…_attracting_ to him.

"Rob," a voice said. "Robert!"

Robert shook his head and turned to his best friend, looking as if he was surprised to see him still standing there.

"You alright there, man?" Rick asked, his voice full of concern. Something dawned on him, and he began to panic in his typical Rick Schuerman manner. "You're sick, aren't you. I told you, I _told_ you to not eat that damn cauliflower casserole they served in the cafeteria yesterday!"

Robert smirked in response. "I'm not sick, Rick," he said, turning back to the flier before him. "It's…it's this flier…something about it is just…it's speaking to me."

Rick gazed at his friend quizzically for a long moment before making his eyes to what Robert was looking at. "The Army Air Corps recruitment poster, you mean?" He asked.

"Yeah…I don't know what about it, but…I feel like I have to do this."

"_You_. Join the Army Air Corps. Rob, you can't even sucker punch that sleazebag Tony even when he deserves it. What in God's name makes you think you can pick up a gun and _kill_ someone with it?"

"The Army Air Corps means flying airplanes and doing service in the air, correct?" Hogan asked, again turning to face his best friend.

"Yes…" Rick answered, with a slow nodded.

"So I'd still be doing what I _want_ to do for a career…just in a different way…a _heroic_ way."

"I'm _so_ lost right now. More lost than I am in flippin' English class."

"Rick," Robert began. "I think I have to join the Army Air Corps next year. Apply to and attend West Point like my father did for the army…I've gotta serve my country. I've gotta protect everything I believe in. Those who are too afraid or can't do it themselves."

"Well dammit, you've certainly got the brains to do it. Hell, you got the brains to outsmart Newton…" A new realization hit Rick, and a look of dread and despair appeared on his face. He looked back at Robert with a pleading glance. "Aw man, _tell _me you didn't just drag me into what I _think_ you just dragged me into."

Robert's smile returned and decided to give his best friend the usual grief they gave one another. "Better start practicing for that mile run in sixth period. They do a lot of running in the military." He gave Rick a wink and walked off to their homeroom, leaving Rick alone to himself.

"Man," Rick groaned. "Now I _really_ gotta pass gym class." He was brought out of his thoughts by the warning bell. Homeroom started in three minutes. He realized the hallways were growing quiet, saw that his best friend was no longer standing with him, then looked up in the direction of his designated room with wide, anxiety-ridden pupils before he began sprinting to class. "Rob! Wait! I don't want another detention!"


End file.
